


Staying Alive

by flibbertygigget



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Ending, Gen, POW AU, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-02
Updated: 2015-12-02
Packaged: 2018-05-04 08:42:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5327819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flibbertygigget/pseuds/flibbertygigget
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aaron Burr hadn't expected to survive, but with Hamilton by his side he is willing to try to stay alive.</p><p>Alternate ending of my fic <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/5221061"> Talk Less </a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Staying Alive

Alexander Hamilton felt ill as he entered the bowels of the HMS _Jersey_. It may have been years since he had last set foot in Hell, but he could still remember every detail with startling clarity. If it hadn't been for his promise, he would have left the job of rescuing the captives to his men and instead had a stiff drink.

But he couldn't do that. Aaron Burr was waiting for him.

Logically, Hamilton knew that Burr was dead or close to it, but he couldn't let go of hope. To do that would be to betray his friend, the man who had rescued Hamilton from that damned ship at his own expense. Hamilton didn't know what he would find of Burr, but if Burr was alive he was determined to return the favor.

It took an hour to find him. Burr was in the deepest corner of the ship, and his condition was among the most desperate of those they had found there. He was nearly naked, a shivering, skeletal figure that barely responded when Hamilton spoke his name. Long, corded scars glimmered across his back, attesting to multiple beatings and whippings. But the worst element of his condition were his eyes, which stared, dark and unresponsive, from their sunken sockets.

"Burr!" Hamilton's louder entreaty made Burr flinch, curling in on himself pathetically. "No, no, you're safe now. I kept my promise, don't you see? You're safe now, the war's over, we won. You'll be alright, I promise." Burr's lips moved, mouthing words that Hamilton couldn't hear, no matter how hard he tried. "You'll be alright."

* * *

Aaron Burr was floating. 

He could sense the change in atmosphere, the sudden burst of cool wind as he left the stifling sick of the hold. He shivered, and strong arms held him close to a chest that heated him like a furnace. Burr tried to open his eyes, but he quickly clenched them closed again.

There was too much light, too much warmth, too much everything.

After a long time he found himself on the ground again, real ground that didn't sway beneath him. He lay there, and he was comfortable. Faintly he heard frantic voices surrounding him, but he couldn't bring himself to care. He was warm. He wasn't in pain. If he could lay here forever in peace, that would be enough.

Eventually the comfortable haze receded and feverish pain took over. Every bone in his body ached, his stomach burned with acid, and the half-healed lashes on his back felt as though they were fires branding his skin. Burr cried out. Soothing hands appeared at his brow, offering cool relief, but then harsher hands held him down. Burr fought them as hard as he could, but soon everything disappeared into the dark and silence.

Burr awoke to Hamilton watching him, half-edited pages spilling from his lap onto the floor. His face flickered in and out of focus, but Burr managed a brittle smile before he sunk again into the darkness.

The next time he awoke, Hamilton fed him soup, and Burr couldn't keep it down.

It took two more awakenings before Burr was able to stay awake long enough to have a conversation with Hamilton. It took another before he could remember their conversation afterwards.

"Hamilton." His voice was small and cracked.

"Burr! Sir, are you alright now?" And there it was, the same nervous energy constantly begging to be released, except now it was all focused on Burr. He already found being the object of Hamilton's attention exhausting.

"Where- Where am I?" Hamilton's face fell.

"You're at the doctor's. Washington's doctor. For awhile we thought..." Hamilton stared at Burr, then he shook his head. "Don't worry. You'll recover." He said it with such intensity that Burr knew he believed in it.

Burr couldn't believe in it. Whenever he closed his eyes, it was simply to find himself back in that Godforsaken pit, waiting for the blow to fall.

"Burr, sir, can you hear me?" Burr nodded.

"I- I am fatigued, Hamilton. Please- leave me awhile." Hamilton looked as though he wished to argue, but he eventually did as Burr asked. It was only then that Burr let his mask crack.

* * *

 

Weeks turned to months. Alexander Hamilton yearned to go back to New York, back to Eliza and Phillip, but Burr was too weak for even so short a journey, and Hamilton refused to leave his side. Part of him stayed out of a sense of honor, bound by the promise he had made, but mostly Hamilton was simply afraid. What if Burr relapsed, and he was not there to help him? What if Burr, weak as he was, was hurt by supposed allies?

An incident with the doctor made Hamilton even more reluctant to leave. Hamilton had been kicked out of the sickroom,  and he paced restlessly. When the doctor returned, he looked grave and disapproving.

"What is the matter?" Hamilton said. "Is Colonel Burr alright?"

"His body is healing as well as can be expected," the doctor said stiffly.

"You attempt to evade me, sir. I will not be deterred. Tell me everything." The doctor hesitated.

"I know you are deeply invested in the recovery of Colonel Burr," he said, "so I am loathe to inform you of so dark a possibility. Colonel Burr is showing many signs of the disorder the French call  _nostalgia_." Hamilton felt his stomach clench painfully.

"Is there anything you can do for him? Anything at all?" The doctor shook his head.

"Don't get any ideas into your head, young man," he said. "The French call it  _nostalgia,_ but I call it cowardice, plain and simple. Some men, no matter how brave and honorable they appear, simply are not made of the same stuff as you or I-" That was when Hamilton punched him. The doctor, caught unawares, fell to the floor with a pathetic cry. "How dare you?"

"How dare you?" Hamilton yelled, hands still in fists at his sides. "Colonel Burr has been through horrors unimaginable for the sake of the Revolution, yet you question his honor? This is inexcusable!"

"Young man, you simply must look at the facts. The nervous fevers, the refusal to speak to me of his experiances, all symptoms point to the root cause of cowardice. Chances are that he sold us out in return for his life-" Hamilton lashed out again, this time with his foot.

"I would like to see a flea-bitten mongrel like you withstand a day in a place like that! Colonel Burr was in that Hell for years, and yet you-" Hamilton froze. Muffled cries came from Burr's sickroom. The doctor struggled to his feet.

"I know it is difficult to understand, but were Colonel Burr the man you claim he is, he would not be in this disturbed state of mind." The doctor placed a consoling hand on Hamilton's shoulder, but Hamilton viciously tore away and left to care for his comrade.

"Burr," he said softly, putting a hand on the other man's arm. Burr woke from his nightmare with a start, clutching the sheets and choking back his screams. "Burr, it's fine, you're alright." Slowly Burr's breathing began to slow to a more normal rate, and he rested his forehead on Hamilton's arm. "You aren't there now."

"Hamilton."

"You're alright. Everything's alright." His grip on Burr's arm tightened. "No one will hurt you, I promise."

"You're upset." Hamilton twitched. "What happened?"

"Nothing happened."

"You're a terrible lier."

"You aren't supposed to be disturbed. You could relapse."

"I am no child!" For a moment the fire seemed to return to Burr's eyes, and he struggled to sit up, but as soon as it was there it was gone, leaving him drained. "Please, Hamilton. Whatever it is, I can take it." Hamilton wasn't so reassured, but it was obvious that Burr was determined and it would do more harm than good to conceal the doctor's comments.

"The doctor believes you a coward." Burr sank back into the mattress and sighed.

"I suppose it was to be expected," he said. Burr's calm was almost as infuriating as the doctor's words. Hamilton angrily ran a hand through his long black hair.

"Why would this be expected? You should be hailed as a hero of the Revolution, not- not this!"

"Hamilton-"

"You are the antithesis of a coward. I won't stand for your name to be slandered in this manner!" Burr reached out and clutched to Hamilton's sleeve.

"Don't do anything rash," he said.

"I should have challenged him to a duel right then and there!"

"Don't!" Burr paused to catch his breath with a grimace. "Don't. It's my honor at stake, and I am telling you it's not worth it."

"How can you say that? Burr, I can't stand idly by when someone who has no idea what you went through in that Hell insults your honor and drags your good name through the mud!"

"And I cannot allow yiu to risk your life on my behalf." There was something solid and assured in Burr's weak voice that made Hamilton pause. "Comments have no power to disturb me."

"But-"

"Hamilton, I assure you, they cannot say anything I have not already heard." Hamilton felt his face twist in anger.

"Tell me their names, and I will take them in a fistfight right now. Dueling's too good for their kind."

"There's nothing to defend. Don't go looking for trouble, Hamilton, especially not on my account. We have troubles enough already." Burr's solemn manner was calming even as Hamilton's mind rebelled against his words.

"Fine," he said at last, "but if I hear them questioning your honor again, I can't be held responsible for their ultimate condition." Burr just sighed.

* * *

 

Aaron Burr dreaded the upcoming journey. It wouldn't take long, a few hours at most, but even the thought of leaving the safe confines of the doctor's house made him feel ill. To be out in the wide world, without walls or darkness to conceal him, was a concept that made him fight to suppress his tremors.

"Are you ready to go?" Hamilton stood hesitantly in the doorway, a small bundle of clothes slung over his shoulder. Burr nodded. This was as ready as he would ever be. "Right." Hamilton moved forward to help him, but Burr shook his head.

"I can manage on my own," he said. He struggled into sitting position. The task of standing and walking was impossibly daunting, but the alternative was even worse. Weakness in body was something he could ill afford, not when he constantly questioned his own mind.

Burr swung his legs to the ground and tried to pretend that his arms weren't already trembling from keeping his body upright. Then he stood, and his legs nearly collapsed beneath him. Burr's lungs heaved, and he knew that he couldn't stand for long. Just as he was about to surrender to his body, Hamilton slipped beneath his arm, taking his weight from him.

"I've got you now," Hamilton said. "Come on. The carriage is waiting." Even with Hamilton doing most of the work, Burr could barely put one foot in front of the other. By the time they reached the carriage Hamilton had to pick him up to place him inside.

Every bump of the road jolted through Burr's body painfully. He tried to swallow any noise, but an especially large pothole jerked a moan from his lips. Hamilton was instantly there.

"How can I help?" Burr just shook his head and buried it in Hamilton's shoulder, girding himself for the painful journey.

* * *

"Come to bed."

"Eliza..." Alexander Hamilton didn't even look up from the scrawl that swam before him. It had been... God, he didn't know how long since he had slept, but he couldn't leave. He had things to write, and Burr still woke every few hours, choking back screams. "My work cannot wait."

"Alexander, you must take care of yourself," she said. "Sleep, eat. Even you cannot run on nothing at all."

"She's right, Hamilton." Hamilton started, nearly overturning the inkwell. He hadn't realized that Burr had awoken. "You ought to listen to your wife. I have found that the fairer sex possesses the wisdom that often eludes the minds of men."

"Are you trying to flirt with my wife, Burr?" Burr attempted a slight smile.

"I cannot say I try to," he said. "It is simply in my nature to appeal to a woman's intellect. Am I to blame if this is often conductive towards other ends? I seek only the mental stimulation of conversing with an intellectual equal, nothing more."

"Well, in interests of keeping my wife, I suppose I must consummate your mental stimulation with my physical." Eliza let out a giggle.

"I shall hold you to that," she said, taking Hamilton's arm and gently guiding him from the room where Burr lay. As soon as the Dorr closed behind him, Hamilton let the light-hearted mask drop and his worry lines show.

"He isn't getting any better," he muttered. Eliza gently ran a hand through his hair.

"He hasn't had a relapse, and he willingly ears most meals. You can't expect him to get better all at once, Alexander. Give him time. You can't rush these things, you must be willing to-"

"Wait for it, I know." Hamilton allowed his head to rest upon her shoulder. "It's just- I can hear his labored breathing as he sleeps. It isn't right. I've written to every doctor I know, but all of them say it's a matter of his muscles having deteriorated and there's nothing they can do. If he cannot breath correctly-"

"Alexander, you cannot control this. Concentrate on what you can do, and leave the rest to God."

"There must be someone I haven't written to, someone to help him. I've never met a situation, Eliza, that I have nkt been able to escape from using my skill with words."

"For God's sake-"

"God has never helped me before. I've always been on my own. Do you think i would trust him with Burr?" Hamilton collapsed kn their bed, head in Eliza's lap. "If I cannot fix the damage that the British dealt him, I might as well have left him in that Hell to rot."

"You can't believe that," Eliza said. "Alexander, he's already healing. All he requires is more time."

"A gentleman is only as good as his word, Eliza," Hamilton said, eyes fighting not to close. "I'll do whatever it takes to fix him, I swear. I owe him that and far more."

* * *

 Hamilton was away at the courts and Eliza avoided his room whenever possible, so Aaron Burr was surprised to hear the door squeak open. A small figure peered at him through the crack.

"Hello, young man," Burr said. "What are you doing there?" The boy slipped into the room. His hair was a wild mess, and his shirt was buttoned incorrectly. 

"I'm hiding from my Ma," he said. "She says I gotta take a bath What're you doing?"

"At the moment? I am attempting to sit up." A few more second's struggle and Burr had managed to do so. "There, that's better." The boy stepped closer.

"My name is Philip Hamilton," he said.

"Aaron Burr." Burr extended his hand, and Philip stared at it. Burr looked down and nearly winced. He must have been a frightening sight to so young a boy. His hand looked more bone than flesh, and his fingers were as knobbed as twigs. He could only imagine how the rest of him looked. "Apologies," he said. "It was not my intention to-" Then, to his surprise, Philip's small hand enveloped his. After a short handshake, the boy hopped onto Burr's bed.

"So," Philip said, "why're you in bed?" Burr froze, trying to find a way to explain everything that had happened in a way that wouldn't frighten or patronized the child.

"I was... caught by the British, and I have only recently been liberated," he said finally. "My health, in consequence, has suffered."

"Pops says they were very bad men who hurt you," Philip said.

"I would agree."

"I think he wants to challenge them to a duel. He's very brave, you know."

"On the contrary, I find dueling to be rather foolish." Philip wrinkled his nose.

"Pops ain't stupid! He's been in lots of duels before, and he's never lost once."

"I was not questioning your father's bravery or intelligence. I simply believe there are better ways of solving a conflict than needlessly risking your life."

"But Pops says that's what you did." Burr stared at the boy, who looked at him with brash defiance on his face.

"What do you mean?"

"He says you were stupid and you let them keep you and let him free. Pops says you coulda had it the other way around, but you didn't. Isn't that the same thing?"

The weight that pressed on Burr's chest had nothing to do with his constant struggle to breath. Five small words, dropped carelessly from the lips of a five-year-old boy, were enough to crush Burr in a way that six years in Hell never managed to.  _You let them keep you._ Burr wanted to protest, wanted to explain that it wasn't like that, but the words stuck in his throat. There was no excuse for how the words rang true.

"Why are you crying?" Philip was frightened, but Burr couldn't reassure him. He could only shake his head. "What'd I do wrong? What's wrong?"

"I- I had no choice," Burr choked out. He could tell that he was breathing too fast, but he no longer had control over his own body. He could only babble explanations around the pain and the fear. "I- It was him or me- I couldn't- to leave him there would be-"

By the time Burr had got a hold of himself, Philip had already run, panicked, from the room.

* * *

 

When Alexander Hamilton slipped into the room, Burr pretended to be asleep. He didn't want to speak to him. He didn't want to explain to Hamilton that not only was he imposing on his home, money, and time, but he had also lost control so badly that he had scared Philip half to death.

"I want to apologize for Philip's behavior," Hamilton said softly, placing a warm, sturdy hand on Burr's shoulder. Burr sighed and opened his eyes.

"There's nothing to apologize for," he said.

"No, what Philip said was inexcusable. You deserve better than that, and I've made sure to tell him exactly how much I owe you."

"You don't owe me anything, Hamilton. He's five, it doesn't matter." Even thinking about that conversation made Burr feel ill, but he pushed it aside. He couldn't lose control in front of Hamilton.

"But it does matter! what I said has, however unintentionally, hurt you." Hamilton pushed up his spectacles to rub his eyes. "I just can't- Why did you save me, Burr? Why was it me and not you?"

"Would you have forgiven me had I left you there?" Hamilton waved the question aside.

"Unimportant," he said. "I would have died within a few more months of that, and you wouldn't be so hurt."

"Precisely," said Burr. "I knew I had a better chance than you. I made the only possible decision."

"I disagree."

"Than what would you have had me do?"

"I don't know!" All of Hamilton's passionate frustration seemed to erupt in those three words. "I don't know, alright? I just- There had to have been another way. You didn't have to go through that. I could have stayed instead, or I could have rescued you faster, or-"

"Hamilton!" To Burr's surprise, Hamilton actually stopped. "I am not some damsel for you to rescue. Whatever possibilities there might have been, I made my decision. There was nothing you could have done, and you owe me nothing. If you want to blame anyone for what happened, blame me." Hamilton was silent for a long time.

"I never talk about what happened there," he said at last. "Not even Eliza knows all of it, and she's the only one who's seen my scars and heard me wake from the nightmares." He paused. "If it had been me, and I had to make that choice, I would have left you there. I wouldn't have been able to do what you did."

"Hamilton, what's your point? What's done is done, and no matter how much we wish it could have played out differently, the fact is that it didn't." Burr sighed as Hamilton squeezed his hand. "If it's any consolation, I don't believe I would be able to make that choice again. I expected to die there, but I never expected..."

"But you didn't die. You're safe now." Burr turned away from Hamilton's painfully hopeful gaze.

"Sometimes I wish that I wasn't."

* * *

 

Aaron Burr stared at the mess of papers that Hamilton had placed on his lap. Hamilton looked at Burr expectantly.

"What do you expect me to do with these?" he said.

"Burr, you're a better lawyer than me," Hamilton began, a whole speech obviously prepared. Burr held up his hand.

"Just answer the question, Hamilton," he said. Hamilton sighed dramatically.

"Madison, Jay, and I are writing a series of essays, to be published anonymously, defending the Constitution to the public. I would like for you to help us."

"No," said Burr.

"Do you believe in the Constitution?"

"I put up with your ramblings on it; of course I believe in it."

"Then defend it." Hamilton's face, so alive and determined, softened Burr's resolve. But...

"I haven't written in years, you know that. I no doubt will want for practice. Besides, you were always the better writer of the two of us."

"Come on, Burr, I need your help. You can help us write these essays, or- or just help me by revising what I've already written. You're everything we need: succinct, persuasive, rational. You can do it, I know you can."

"Hamilton, please..." Burr refused to surrender to Hamilton's pleading look. "I'll do what I can." Hamilton's smile was blinding.

"Thank you! I've only just begun, but I already have three essays drafted. Do you think they're too complex? I want it so any man or woman with elementary education can comprehend it..." As Hamilton babbled on, Burr felt a hesitant excitement rise within him in spite of his better judgement. It had been so long since he had a project, something to distract him from the circumstances with its complexity and interest. Though Burr still was unsure whether Hamilton ought to be advertising his every opinion, he couldn't see the harm in simply... helping him along a bit. Perhaps he could even help to curb Hamilton's reckless excess.

That night Burr dreamed of arguments and ink.

* * *

The room went quiet when the Hamiltons noticed Burr slowly descending the stairs. For a moment time seemed suspended, then Hamilton's face broke into a wide smile that erased years from his features.

"Burr!" he said, rushing over to take Burr's arm. "It's gratifying to see you out of bed, sir."

"Well, I couldn't remain in that room forever," Burr said. Part of him wanted to give into his already shaking legs and retreat back to the bedroom, but one look at Hamilton's face refueled his resolve. He would not allow the days he had spent laboriously retraining his muscles to move in accordance with his wishes to go to waste. He would not wipe that look from Hamilton's face.

"Come, sit, you'll exhaust yourself." Burr allowed himself to be guided to the chair nearest to the roaring fireplace. "Eliza and I were just discussing Jefferson's latest blunder." Philip and Angelica took this as their cue to stop staring at Burr and go back to their play.

"Tell me, Alexander," Burr said. As Hamilton began to talk, Burr relaxed into his chair. This was good. He was on his way to recovering from those terrible years, and if he never did, if he was confined to the sickroom the rest of his days, what of it? Burr looked around at the simple happiness of Hamilton and his family. This could be enough. 

 


End file.
